


Keeper

by avianbrother



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Creampie, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Medical Procedures, Oral Sex, Reader-Insert, Tentacles, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Widowmaker is a flirt, a single male background character whose sole purpose is to get beat up, shadow tentacles???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 13:13:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8534503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avianbrother/pseuds/avianbrother
Summary: Reaper saved your life and you've worked for him for several years. Now he's joined Talon and the organization doesn't take kindly to your presence. You'll follow him wherever he goes, obey his every command. Only question is, why is the famed Reaper protecting you? And what does a killer like him want with someone like you?





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've done reader inserts before but this is my first shot at 1) present-tense fic, and 2) Overwatch smut. I hope it's good and I did Edgy McEdgelord justice.
> 
> I know zero Spanish so any and all errors are the result of Google translate.

You’re used to keeping up with Reaper’s long strides. The Talon agents learned to give you and your boss a wide berth when you walked with tablet in hand. The last time one of them tried to shove you aside, they were face to face with the barrel of his gun. You pay them little mind as you swipe through the last mission’s report, typing notes on the screen and highlighting passages then flipping to the briefings for upcoming missions.

“Your numbers are good,” you muse. “You managed to beat your average for kills.” Reaper grunts in response, something you’ve grown accustomed to. “Looks like they’re sending you to Nepal next,” you look over to the blank façade of his mask, “you want I should pack your winter gear?”

He scoffs. “You know I don’t need it,” he replies. You shrug, switching off the tablet and clutching it to your chest as you continue alongside him.

“Thought I’d ask. The Talon higher-ups want to keep me busy—scuttlebutt has it they’re trying to get me working with the other handlers and analysts.” That earns a growl from him. He stops in front and turns to you, forcing you to halt in your tracks. The subtle movements in his mask tell you he’s pissed. Well, more so than usual. He grabs a fistful of your shirt and you hold your breath, though you’re certain he’d never strike you.

“Ungrateful bastards…you work for me, got it? My orders come first.” You nod, leaning forward to keep his claws from tearing your shirt.

“I know, sir. They have shitty pay anyways.” You give him a cheeky smile, and he rewards you with a soft chuckle.

“Smart girl, smarter than that ingrate I picked up.” His voice is gravel and smoke, a comfort that eases the sting whenever he speaks of his former team.

Even before he took you in, you watched the interviews and the holograms of the Overwatch team, back when they were the heroes of the world. You were younger then, but you liked Reyes, and seeing him now as Reaper didn’t change that. It wasn’t easy coming to terms with how much darker he is, how his morals are looser and his thirst for vengeance and killing seems to guide his way. Occasionally you catch flickers of the man in the videos when he laughs, really laughs and not that terrible sadistic mocking. You see it when he hovers nearby, just out of your line of sight, when the Talon agents come too close and dig too deep with their prying questions.

You aren’t quite sure why it hurts when he talks about Overwatch. Sometimes it feels as though you’re a cheap replacement, always second best to what he’d had and envious of those closest to him when he was still Reyes. Other times…other times you can feel the sadness and betrayal that eats at him. It isn’t often that it happens, but he lets you stay in his room going over documents or new intel long into the night. He never takes off his mask or anything more than his cloak and gauntlets. He sits in his chair or leans back against the pillows on his bed, tendrils of shadow wafting off him as he nurses some painkillers and tequila. No words are ever exchanged except for when you remark on a piece of information and he lets out a grunt or a murmur of Spanish. It’s the most intimate you ever get with him, and you have the feeling it takes a great deal of trust on his part to let you so close, see him unguarded.

But you have more important work to worry about at the moment. You take his remark as a compliment and take a breath when he finally releases your shirt. Reaper continues his route and you follow. The corridors of the base bring you to a practice range where Widowmaker is dismantling her rifle for maintenance. She shoots a sly grin as you both enter.

“Ah, Reaper and la mignonne, what a pleasant surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure?” The nickname brings a blush to your face, which pulls a laugh from her. “How can you keep such a meek creature under your wing? Perhaps I can take her, show her how a real woman handles herself.”

You huff indignantly. “When will you get tired of this?”

“When you stop amusing me,” she replies, more playful than malicious. Reaper coughs, interrupting the banter. Widow rolls her eyes. You pass her the tablet and she hums as she skims the files. She makes a noise of distaste. “Nepal again? When will they give us a challenge?”

“You tell me,” says Reaper. “I thought you were their special agent.” Widow glares at him and you see that as your cue to take your tablet and scurry out. Before you reach the door, you hear him call in your direction. “Chica?” You stop to look over your shoulder. “Don’t pack the winter gear.”

You smile. “I got it, boss.”

***

As part of Reaper’s arrangement with Talon, your room is adjacent to his. In all your history together, he never called on you in an emergency, save for when the base went on alert. You slide your keycard through the slot and go inside. There isn’t much of a personal touch to the place. You had nothing when he found you, and you had precious little since then. A bag of your possessions is tucked beneath the bed along with the pistol and stun gun he made you keep. You kick off your boots and flop on the thin mattress, stretching the kinks from your spine with satisfying cracks. You toss the tablet aside, your work done for the day. Boredom filled your hours more often than not. The excitement of working for Talon, or at least finding a daily grind, appeals to you. But you agreed to be his.

You aren’t certain what ‘being his’ really meant. He took you in, gave you clothes, shelter, and a cut of his profit, with the promise of nothing more than to be spared a bullet to the brain so long as you followed orders. The day he asked you to work for him you said yes before you knew who he was under the mask. It drew stares from the Talon staff. After all, what would a killer like Reaper want with someone like you?

All the questions and answers gnaw at you. You need a distraction. Reaching into your bug-out bag, you pull out a shirt, a blanket, and a pair of pants. You wrap up in the blanket and lay the clothes across the bed. They’re dark in color, basic in design, yet the fabric is soft and the stitching neat. The threads melt into the weave, only noticeable if you trace the lines with your finger. Reaper was like a cat, slinking off to lick his wounds away from curious eyes. That didn’t stop him from suturing your wounds with a delicate touch—painless, even stitches that healed leaving barely any marks. You lay back, lifting your shirt to trace the lines in your skin.

You thought you were going to die that day. You tried to fight the gang that cornered you, biting and scratching and kicking even as they cut you, threw you down, and beat you. You didn’t have any money to take; you were just a rite of passage, a poor sap to take the beatings so they could welcome their initiate. He found you still trying to claw your attackers’ faces. They left you there when they saw him, left you to die in your blood. For a moment you thought he was death. He was gruff when he nursed your wounds. You learned your questions would only be met with silence. But it was a kindness you never forgot, a debt you could never repay.

***

“Good luck out there, boss,” you say as you and the other flunkies finished loading the transport ship. Reaper stares at you, arms crossed while he waits impatiently.

“I don’t need luck.” He turns his stare to the combat team climbing inside the transport. He growls lowly. Then he looks at you again, standing tall and reminding you just how foreboding he is. “You keep watch, chica. I don’t trust them not to drag you into something stupid.”

A frown tugs at your lips and you sigh, glancing at all the activity on base. “Reaper, sir…I would never choose this organization over you, but…I can fight. I can do surveillance, data analysis—I can _work_ if you would just let me. I want to be an asset. Why won’t you let me take on more responsibility?”

“Shut up!” he snaps, startling you and Widowmaker, only a few yards away. Reaper grumbles, clenching his fists and looking away for a moment as he tries to lower the building tension. He exhales a ragged breath and turns his attention back to you. Leaning in close, he keeps his tone low so only you can hear. “Talon doesn’t care about you, or anyone. If you become useful, they’ll use you and manipulate you until you’re no good to them, and then they’ll kick you to the curb like the punk you are. Only this time you’ll be _dead._ ”

Your eyes dart to the nearby Talon members. If they’re eavesdropping, they aren’t being obvious about it. “But what about you, sir?”

He laughs darkly. “I’m a killer, tonta. They can’t get rid of a shadow. You’re an asset to me if you’re alive, to Talon you’re a pawn for their endgame. I don’t want them getting the idea you work for anyone other than me, understand?” You nod slowly and he straightens, watching your expression before turning brusquely to depart with the rest of the team. As the ship rises and disappears into the horizon, it occurs to you your heart is beating so fast it feels like it’s going to burst through your chest, and your face is warm and flushed.

***

Based on the time, you guess Reaper is more or less finished in Nepal. Your stomach growls in protest. You are hesitant to eat in the mess hall when he isn’t there, and not just because of your parting conversation. It will be at least an hour until he returns, and you’re debating whether you’ll starve to death before he gets there. Your stomach switches to pleads of mercy. You groan in frustration and accept your fate.

The mess hall is small, hardly made to fit the dozen or so tables squeezed inside. Variety isn’t part of the menu but it tastes decent enough, and the cooks usually don’t burn the food. You grab a wet tray from the stack, drying it with a fistful of napkins since the kitchen staff couldn’t be bothered to do it themselves. Thankfully, the line is short, and you receive a pile of chicken and mashed potatoes. You snag the closest empty table, hunching over defensively, an arm tucked around your tray. It’s a habit you never broke. Memories of hunger and desperation were all too fresh.

After you shovel some food in your mouth you start to relax, glancing around the room and listening to snatches of conversation.

You pretend not to hear when they call your name, ignoring them until they surround you on either side of the table.

“Well, if it isn’t the Reaper’s lapdog,” says the leader of the group. You keep your eyes on your food.

“Eat shit, Johannsson,” you shoot back. His laughter grates your nerves.

“Are you mad he put you in your place today?” Gritting your teeth, you resist the urge to stab the arm draped around your shoulder. Johannsson worked head of security and his armor could stop a 9mm round. A fork was jack shit to him.

Please leave me alone for once, you beg.

His breath tickles your ear. “How’s it feel to know you’re not the perfect princess, locked in your tower with him every day?” You slam your hands so hard you shake the table. You stand and glower at the man.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He rises from his seat.

“Come on, princess. You’re weak. You’ve got nothing to give this outfit.” Fire burns within you as you cringe at his words. “Everyone knows it. The only reason Talon keeps you around is because you’re busy sucking Reaper’s cock!”

It’s a stab through the heart. You heard the whispers when you were alone, the questions. He has no motives for keeping you. Talon could give him everything he needs. He’s the fucking former commander of Blackwatch—he doesn’t need a mousy assistant to help him do his job.

But he sure as hell doesn’t want to fuck you. You are nothing more than a glorified servant. You are only his because he pities you. He only lets you into his space because you aren’t a threat. You told yourself this even as you admired him and kept his picture in your bag and followed his every order. Deep down you hoped one day he’d see your devotion, see the honest love you had for him.

At some point you realized you were fooling yourself. You held onto the hope.

Whatever anyone sees between you two is a trick of the imagination. You wish he was keeping you for sex, for some reason that was clear to you.

He’ll never fuck you. He’ll never love you.

And it breaks you.

Johannsson misunderstands the source of the pain written in your face. That doesn’t stop him from breaking you even more.

“Now I’ve kissed a lot of ass to get where I am, but you? You take the fucking cake. The last thing we need around here is some useless, clingy little bitch.”

You see red. It clouds your vision and oh, the rage…

Rage guides the meat of your palm into his nose, crushing it into his face exactly as you’d been taught. While he bends in pain and shock, you swing and knock him flat on his ass. His buddies don’t have time to act before you’re on him, punching and working out all the anger and confusion and rejection you pent up. Tears prick your eyes but you are too focused on the bastard beneath you. It doesn’t take him long to fight back.

He grabs your hair and steals the air from your lungs with each hard blow to the ribs. Frantic jabs to his face leave your knuckles bloody. He returns the favor and your head starts to swim as he turns your eye into a bruised mess. At some point you hear a sickening crack and feel something inside you cave. You don’t care. You let out a stream of curses you learned from Reaper, their meanings lost on you but the angry Spanish seems so right. The two of you go at it until your vision blurs and strong arms wrap around you to haul you off.

“Get him to medical!” shouts the Talon agent. You thrash feebly against his grip. There is some satisfaction at watching the man who tormented you during your stay in this wretched place writhing on the ground.

Heh…who’s been put in their place now?

***

Where is the med kit?

You dump your bug-out bag on the bed, praying it would be tucked with the rest of your things. Flinging aside the clothes and newspaper cuttings, dread sets in. It isn’t in the bathroom or on your desk. For a moment, you consider searching through his room. You quickly nix the idea. If he isn’t pissed when he gets there, he’ll be pissed to find you in his room without his permission.

And he is most certainly pissed.

The knock on the door scares you. You stare. A few seconds pass. Another knock.

“ _Let me in._ ”

You fucked up. It hurts to pull yourself up but you make your way to the door, undoing the lock and stepping back as he let himself in.

Reaper didn’t huff or growl. He shuts the door with a quiet click, brushing past without a sound. He goes straight for the bathroom, running the sink faucet. You resign yourself to sitting on the edge of your bed, ribs screaming at any movement made. Belatedly you notice the med kit in one clawed hand, and the basin of warm water he is filling. He doesn’t speak as he sets the basin and med kit on the floor by your feet. A cloth is soaking in the water. You gaze up at the mask and wait.

“Give me a good reason not to throw you out, ingrate,” he says coldly. The name stings but you’re already throbbing all over. You stay quiet, and merely bow your head. A surprisingly soft sigh escapes him. Gauntlets and gloves land beside you with a thud and he kneels in front of you. His hands are just as you remember them. The skin is ashen, and scars mar flesh that’s cold to the touch.

Reaper isn’t gentle when he examines your raw knuckles. It’s as if they’ve been put through a grinder. He hums, taking the damp cloth and dabbing your wound. You hiss, trembling and reflexively trying to jerk your hand away. He keeps a firm grip, waiting out the instinctive response and then continuing his care. He cleans the scrapes, pressing and twisting each digit to check for fractures. Then he pops a tube of ointment from the kit, smearing it over your wounds.

“I leave for one mission and you do _this_ ,” he says suddenly. “Johannsson’s a fucking mess.”

“He deserved it!” you snap back, your anger making him pause to look at you through dark circles.

“I don’t care if he did. You’re lucky Talon hasn’t kicked you out.” A thin layer of gauze is wrapped around each hand, and then he reaches for the hem of your shirt.

“What does it matter? I don’t belong here.” You can’t stop your voice from cracking, tears welling and threatening to spill over. He freezes.

“ _What?_ ” It scares you that you can’t pin the emotions rolling off him. Any answer you have is stuck in your throat. He loosens the vice he has on your shirt, and you burn beneath the intensity of his stare. “ _What did you say?_ ”

You gulp for air and shakily exhaled. Finally you find the courage to return his gaze, and it almost shocks you how numbly you reply. “They talk about us…when you’re not around. The other agents say things—they don’t get why Talon lets me stay here, why _you_ keep me here. Johannsson told me…” It hurts to think. The words are caught on your tongue and you want to scream to drown them out.

“Chica?” he says, quiet but firm. His fingers lightly fold around your wrists. It is the greatest comfort you’ve ever gotten from him.

“He told me the only reason I’m here is because I’m your fuck toy.” It comes out more blithely than you intend, and you give him a bitter smile. “Plenty of agents think so too. Who can blame them? I mean…you don’t take me on missions with you, Talon doesn’t want me around for anything… of course they’re gonna say things.”

Reaper rises in a swirl of mist, taking the bowl with him to the bathroom. You don’t know what to feel while he moves in silence, dumping the tainted water and wringing the rag dry.

“Is that why you punched him?” You sniffle and smell pennies, your nose mangled from the number Johannsson did on you.

“Yeah, mostly why.” When he doesn’t seem to respond, you clarify. “The two of us aren’t like that. You’re professional about our arrangement—you’re not the type to just…have a fuck buddy around.” You idly flex your hands, the pain ebbing away in inches. “I don’t do much for you but I’m not gonna let them insult either of us like that, especially when they don’t have the courage to say it to your face.” Reaper sighs and leans on the sink as if weighed by a heavy burden. “Reaper?.......Reyes?”

The name grabs his attention and pulls him from his thoughts. His posture changes though you still see a sag in his shoulders. He’s cautious as he returns with the basin, and he locks eyes with you when he takes his place once more. There’s a pause and then he says in a voice you’ve never heard before, “Don’t worry about an old shadow like me. You’re too loyal for your own good.” He places a clean rag on your bruised eye, making you jolt from the chill. “Hold that there.”

He rolls up the hem of your shirt. A string of swears flows from his mouth as he takes in Johannsson’s grisly work. Gingerly he pokes at your ribs, feeling for a break. In spite of all your will power, a strangled groan manages to escape. He stops. “Sorry. I’m surprised you can move.”

“Adrenaline, I guess.” You watch him grab a syringe from the kit and you relax as whatever he injects soothes the ache. Something is fixed because now you can breathe deep again and your whole body sings. Or maybe it’s just the way his calloused fingers brush your abdomen. Prolonged contact has warmed him up a bit, and it no longer feels like ice running across your skin. He’s so close you can almost see through the blacked out lenses of his mask, you’re able to study how the façade moves with his real visage, every furrow of the brow and wrinkle of the nose. “What was that?” you ask through the haze.

“A biotic solution,” he explains. “It’ll repair most of the damage and help with the pain.”

“Is that what you use?” You don’t fully grasp what you’ve said until it’s too late, wincing as you prepare for his no doubt angry retort. His condition is a sore spot and you knew better than to acknowledge it.

Instead he tilts his head to the side, brows drawn together. “No. Not in a long time.” Reaper’s hand wraps over yours and slips the rag from your grasp. He takes you by the chin to examine your eye, grunting in approval at the reduced swelling. Again he checks your ribs and this time his prodding simply tickles you. It takes longer than it should for him to roll your shirt down, and you catch him tracing the scars on your belly and sides.

“Thank you,” you whisper. He shrugs a shoulder. The gesture seems awkward coming from him.

“Better me than the doctors here. Talon has butchers. You—”

He cuts off suddenly. You frown, following his line of sight to the contents of your bag, still splayed across your bed. “Oh…”

He picks up one of the clippings. You tense. For all the kindness and tolerance he showed you, you never knew him to be sentimental. Possible scenarios flash through your mind and you worry he’ll misunderstand your intentions.

He sifts through the pitiful pile you have and collects more of the clippings. You wish he would just yell at you, do something, _say_ something.

“Where did you get these?” His tone is…curious, a bit strained perhaps, confused, but there’s no malicious intent belying his words. A blush colors your cheeks and you struggle for anything resembling coherent speech.

“I-I saved them from…articles and…stuff.” He happens upon your favorite, one of the candid shots where he’s actually smiling, relaxed.

“ _Why_?” It comes out like a desperate plea even with all the smoke and grit in his voice.

 _Because I love you_ , you wanna say. _Because I loved you then and I love you even more now_.

“I don’t know,” is what comes out.

Reaper sets the cutouts aside and turns his attention to the clothes. “I made these,” he whispers, trailing a digit along the detailed stitching the same way as you did. You nod.

“You gave them to me when you found me and patched me up. They still fit, you know. You said to pack light, said you didn’t know how long we’d be staying here, so….yeah.” His hands are shaking so you risk everything by twining your fingers with his.  You can’t read him when he faces you, but the gentle squeeze tells you it’s okay.

“Why are you here?”

“I don’t—“

“Why are you here with _me_?” Your heart breaks all over again at the loneliness and pain he radiates.

“Because you’re kind to me,” you confess. “Because you’ve been so good to me all this time, even when you got nothing in return. You saved me. You never needed me but you helped me and gave me a place to stay and you’ve never ever hurt me, and we both know you could any time you wanted.” Hot tears trickle down. “You made me clothes and protected me and you didn’t talk to me like everyone else did.” You look at the clippings. “I used to hear about you guys and the world said you were heroes. I looked up to you. And then—and then I actually _met_ you and you were different than you used to be but I could see it, I could see the hero, and I don’t care if you’re hurt or that you kill people, I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth if you’ll have me.”

His breathing is ragged, voice tight as he grabs your shoulders. “Do you mean that?”

You smile, reaching to stroke his cheek. “I do, sir.”

He gently removes your hand. He pulls back his hood, exposing short curls of dark brown hair. He takes a deep breath, and slowly he takes off the mask. The soft gasp from your lips makes him cringe, yet the relief on his face when you cradle him in your hands sets your body afire. Twin marks glide across his cheek and red irises glint in the dim light, vivid against black sclera. Areas of skin ripple as if burnt but flicker like a candle when you touch it, leaving thin black ribbons of shadow that trail off like smoke. Now that you have him he’s warm, warm and cold and hard and soft all at once.

“Reyes…”

“Call me Gabriel.”

“Gabriel.” The name is water, flowing free and filling you with life. “ _Gabriel_.”

The bed creaks as he climbs on top, pressing a hand on your chest. You take the hint and lie back, leaving yourself open to him. You shiver with excitement as he drinks you in, eyeing your form. You’re burning up, all you want is him and for the fire inside to consume you.

When he kisses you, it’s heaven and hell and you swear he almost sucks the soul from you while he snatches your breath away. You wrap your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss and moaning when he bites your lip. Gabriel grabs your ass and tugs you close to press his thigh between your legs and rub against your heat. Sweet, delicious friction on your clit makes you embarrassingly wet. His smug grin makes you want to slap him but you don’t want him to stop. You grind on his thigh, clinging to his cloak and gasping, _pleading_ with need.

His scruff tickles while he whispers in your ear. “Tell me, cariño, is this what you wanted? You want to prove the agents right? You want me to keep you as my toy, baby?”

You lock eyes with him, throwing any restraint you have out the window. “I don’t care what they think, I love you so much, and I just wanna be yours Gabriel, _please_.”

The shock of hearing you confess your love forces him to stop. You grit your teeth because, damn it, you don’t have time for him to freak out. Right now you need him, and you need him to need you. You thread your fingers through his hair and hold him so close you lose track of where your body ends and begins, because you’re so busy tasting his mouth against yours and feeling his frigid frame catch fire with you.

When you finally come up for air he slips away to shuck off his cloak which is swiftly joined by his armor and shirt. You fumble to unclip the ugly ammo belt and fling that aside as well. Between the two of you and a little teamwork, you get off his boots and he’s ready for you, kneeling on the bed and you can see the bulge straining against his pants. You hook your fingers in the waistband, glancing up for permission. He pets your head, running his hand through your hair and brushing stray strands from your face. He nods and you free his cock from his pants. You turn a lovely shade of crimson—Gabriel Reyes, the motherfucking Reaper, goes commando.

You squeeze those thick thighs and press feather kisses to the scars that crisscross his skin. A tug on your hair encourages you to skip to the point, but you tease just a little more, kissing his inner thigh and the trail leading down to that gorgeous cock. He’s long and girthy, and you ache for him to fill you. You lick the underside, being sure to give lots of love to the tip. Gabriel growls, practically thrusting into your mouth while he waits for you to give him what he needs.

You oblige him, slowly at first, stroking the shaft as you take him deeper and taste sweet pre-cum. Once you get all the way, you start bobbing your head. The loud moan you pull from him stokes the fire in your belly. He watches you, lips parted, quiet gasps gradually getting louder, deeper as you suck. The nails in your scalp tell you he’s close and you pick up speed. You want to be the one that makes the Reaper cum.

“Ah-! That’s it, baby, that’s it. Almost there—fuck! Take it. _Take it_.” Oh, the sounds he makes…His seed spurts down your throat, and while you swallow most of it you can’t stop yourself from gagging and coughing at the end, lungs crying out for air. He chuckles, caressing your lower lip with his thumb. You probably look like a mess, you realize, but it doesn’t matter because Gabriel’s eyes are full of adoration. “Good girl.”

He gives you a peck on the temple, and you take the chance to catch your breath while he kicks off his pants. He’s beautiful, with or without the scars. He spots you staring and for a few seconds he seems uncomfortable, shifting his weight and watching you expectantly. You smile and it puts him at ease. You still have all your clothes on but he’s quick to remedy that, pinning you down like before, though he tries to savor you this time, feeling every inch of soft flesh. His hands glide under your shirt and pull it up over your head. He kisses the scars on your belly and fading bruises on your ribs. You giggle, and the wicked look he shoots you sends a thrill up your spine, because now he has his mouth on you like a man starved, sucking and leaving hickeys under your breasts. He nearly rips your bra tearing it off you, and you squirm with delight as he takes your nipple in his mouth, twisting the other and massaging your breasts with a free hand.

“Holy f-fuck, Gabe,” you gasp, yanking his hair. It only serves to fuel his passion. He growls, pinning you in place with a red-eyed stare while he slips off your pants, taking your panties with them. You’re completely bare and it makes you nervous. He’s a killer. He’s a hero. He’s something greater than you’ll ever be and doubt clouds your pleasure and makes you wonder why he chose you of all people.

Gabriel must be a mind reader, because he gives you a chaste kiss and caresses you, murmuring in Spanish. “I won’t hurt you, cariño,” he soothes. “You are mine.” He nuzzles you. You feel something prod your slick entrance and gasp. “Shhh just relax, amor. Let me take care of you.”

He wiggles a finger inside, then a second. He pumps in and out, in and out, working you open for him. You whine, clinging to him and grinding down on the sensations and begging please, please, _please_. He chastises you with a firm slap to the thigh. It’s enough to make you cry but you hold out knowing he’s ready for what comes next. When he finally decides you’re ready for him, he pulls you in for a kiss, one arm propping him up while he lines himself with your entrance. “Look at me,” he commands. You obey. “There’s no going back, baby. You sure you want this?”

“More than anything.”

He pushes into you. Oh…he’s big. He was big when you blew him but god, he _fills_ you. It’s a slow pace but still you end up moaning and grasping for purchase because, fuck, he stretches you wide and hits deep, not to the point of pain but it’s snug and you can hear him cursing and praising how tight you are. Gabriel lets you adjust to his size before thrusting. He squeezes your ass and wraps your legs around his waist, gradually picking up speed. Shallow thrusts at first but he wants you and his self-control is wearing thin, so it’s not long until he’s taking you, fucking you into the mattress and panting your name. He’s vocal, and he isn’t afraid to tell you how much he loves the feeling of your hot pussy on his cock, or how beautiful you look under him.

“Te amo, cariño. Good girl, such a good girl for me.” He bites your neck and you writhe as pleasure mixes with pain and you burn alive from how good it feels having him over you, _inside_ you. Red irises glow brighter, and tendrils of shadow wrap around you, stroking you and holding you closer to their master. They pin your limbs in place so you can’t let him go. They massage your muscles like a dozen little hands and tongues. You feel sensitive all over and it’s pure bliss. He rubs your clit, urging you towards climax. “Cum for me,” he growls.

You’re there, you’re almost there.

“ _Cum for me_!”

He pounds into you and presses that sweet spot, building you higher and higher until you can’t anymore and you break, crashing down, clamping on his cock as your legs shake and he fucks you through your climax. The shadows hold you in place. You say something, you don’t know what, an endless stream of _yes, please, I love you, I love you Gabriel_ that blurs together. He keeps going, and keeps the pleasure riding high, until he breaks too, finishing inside you with short, stuttery thrusts.

“Baby, you’re wonderful,” he praises. He kisses your forehead, groaning as he pulls out. He collapses beside you, the shadows giving last loving touches before retracting into him. The glow in his eyes dulls, and when he looks at you it’s like staring into coals.

The fear that he might leave overtakes you. And then Gabriel drapes an arm over you and you spoon on your bed that’s far too small for the both of you. You should probably wash up, but you’re too comfy, too safe to move. You close your eyes and listen to his steady breathing.

“Gabe?” you ask after a while. He hums in response. You roll over to face him. “Gabe…is this what you wanted all along?”

He’s silent. Eventually he says, “Not at first. When I saved you, I saw you as redemption. Maybe one act of kindness meant I wasn’t what _they_ turned me into.” He laughs half-heartedly. “I was gonna kick you out after you were healed. You looked too pitiful to kick out.” You grimace and he places a hand on your hip, rubbing circles with his thumb. “You had guts, baby. You were weak but you had fight in you. Figured you would turn out to be worth something. I thought joining Talon would drive you away once you’d learned to handle yourself. But you stayed.”

“You liked me too much,” you tease. He gives you a deadpan look.

“Baby I would have fucked you like this ten times over if I’d known you wanted me.” You flush and he laughs….really, truly laughs.

“So what happens now?”

“First, I’m gonna shoot Johannsson in the dick.”


End file.
